Onomatopoeia
by Tahru
Summary: '"You take me for granted? I'm just nothing right?" As anyone would know, 'snap' is a popular onomatopoeia, but always has other meanings.  Snapped!Canada, Snapped!Antonio and others later based on request...now with RAPE
1. Canadian Rage

There comes a time in every forgotten person's life where things just get too great for them to handle. Matthew Williams, Canada, was by far no exception to this rule. His whole life, constantly forgotten, constantly ignored. He figured he'd grin and bear it, people would come around right? Things would always get better. He really did think that way for such a long time, going to meetings and trying to get a word in. This never worked, but he tried anyway. He couldn't find comfort in his Papa, or Daddy...not even his own brother. Maybe the only thing that really set him off was one specific furry creature.

Matthew woke up like normal, slipped on his slippers and streatched. Today was rather cold, so he threw on a shirt as well. He ran a hand through his blonde hair as he bore holes in his own head in the mirror. Did...he always look like that? Was he always so pathetic? He shook his head, biting his bottom lip as he looked down. Maybe he'd call Papa...he could help right? He slowly stalked into the kitchen, grabbing the phone as he readied himself to make some pancakes for breakfast. Later on, they where about to have a world meeting, and he did need to ask France if he wanted some of his cooking as well. He hummed lightly, waiting for the other to pick up-but after a few rings it went straight to voice mail. He figured Francis was busy right? He was a nation after all, they did get busy he reasoned. He sighed and hung up, not bothering with a message, he never checked anyway.

He slipped into his warm jacket and threw on his goggles on his head after eating breakfast, "Kumajiro," he started, causing the bear to look up immeditately. He wasn't used to his name being called! "Can you stay home today?" he offered softly, gently petting the little white bear's head. Kumajiro just whined a little, curling back up on the couch and falling asleep. He had to giggle lightly. He was just so cute...

xxx

Meetings lost their meanings at this point in time. Alot of the time it ended in a grope fest, couples getting cozy (or forced to) and left the Canadian completely alone at this point. He stared, a fake smile twitching on his face as his hand fidgeted. He couldn't help but be annoyed, the past demons where bubbling up and calling. But he'd be fine...he'd be okay. He'd always be okay right? Just smile...and it'll be okay. He took a deep breath, fiddling with his hockey stick. His blades where to his side on his floor. It was the midest of winter at the moment...and there was many frozen bodies of water he could skate on, play around with the puck. He did that often, not that anyone really noticed that, either. But right now he wished he brought his beloved pet with him-atleast he wouldn't be alone right now. Completely alone...forgotten...his hand twitched on his hockey stick again, silently seething. Just like always.

"DUDE!" His loud-mouthed brother shrieked in the Canadian's ear, "Micheal, can I borrow ten bucks? I made a bet with France and lo-" he was cut off when the end of the hockey stick met the side of his head. He fell, quickly,

"I'M FUCKING MATTHEW YOU DAMN PRICK!" he screamed in rage, panting a bit. Everyone stopped to stare at the little nation. It was just so...uncharacteristically him. Matthew laughed psycotically with a smile to match, "All you damn fuckers! Remeber who I am, eh? EH!" he laughed a little. Everyone's mouth hung open, even the Russian was fairly disturbed by this image. But Arthur wouldn't buy it, no. He was very upset that his little American left on the floor, bleeding.

"Matthew! Stop being a bloody wanker! You just hi-" He didn't get to finish before he was smacked too. At the second crack everyone heard...then they started to take action. Francis tried reasoning with his little Matthew,

"Mon cher...please relax," he cooed softly, reaching to touch the Canadian, only to get smacked away, "Oh, please do tell me whats wrong. You know Papa cares." he tried, only to earn a glare,

"The fuck you do!" he screamed, repeditively beating the Frenchman. By this time, Yao had taken his Kiku away, as well as Antonio to Lovino. The German forced Feliciano to go out with Spain and his brother as he and Prussia tried to restrain the blonde. Matthew kicked and screamed bloody murder (an approprate scream for anyone else),"GET OFF GET OFF GET OFF!" he shreiked, slinging French insults around. Nobody knew what the hell he was talking about and their only translator was out cold and beaten. Lithuania managed to break away from Russia, who held him back, and took Canada's face in his hands boldly,

"Matthew...stop..." he mumbled softly. They where close friends...and the blonde would never hurt Toris in a million years. Canada soon fell silent, looking down as he fell limp.

"Mon dieu...what did I do?" he breathed quietly as he was released. Toris smiled lightly,

"...Its okay." the Lithuanian assured, "They'll be fine...it's only natural to have built up stress." he offered. Matthew shook his head, rubbing his forehead. Prussia scoffed lightly,

"...Phsyco bitch." he grunted out. Canada's pupils shrunk at the comment, the tears that where falling out still giving Toris false security. He suddenly whipped around, cracking Prussia in the head next, causing Ludwig to hissed,

"Bruder!" he growled, struggling with the other's stick, trying to take it away. But to the German's suprise...that little Canadian was strong. Toris immediately looked to Ivan for help. He knew he himself could never restrain Matthew, especially if Ludwig couldn't. The Russian actually complied, grinning a little shakily,

"Now now, Mattie. Don't you want to-" he was cut off immediately when the end of the stick jammed into his forehead, blood pouring out. That one, even made the Canadian stop, but only for a minute. Ludwig gasped a little,

"Oh fuck..." he breathed out as Toris screamed at the sight, immediately shutting his eyes. But Matthew was now free. Completely free...he immediately grabbed Toris' wrist, smiling with his blood-splattered face,

"...Lets go ice skating, eh?" he offered brightly, like absolutely nothing even happened. He grabbed his skates, dragging Toris away from the scene.

_Fin_

xxxxx

**Woah guys .-. this will be the first of few. Its called 'Onomatopoeia'...because he 'snaps'. Clever da? Kolkolkol...**

**as if they died, well, the three blondies and Prussia sure didn't...but Russia...thats debateable.**

**God, if Matthew ever snapped like that in the anime...it'd be so fucking hot, right?**

…

**maybe thats just me. Anyway...next person to snap will be Antonio, then Toris...possible Raivis...that all depends.**


	2. Canadian Rage Part II

Name:_ 8basketballdiva8_

Subject: _Onomontopiea poll_

_Hello there!_

_For the Onomatopoeia poll, I voted that you should make another rape chapter,_

_depending on who it is. After I read the first chapter, I was waiting to see_

_what happened next, so I personally think you should continue the Canadian_

_Rage and have Toris, the poor boy, get raped by Canada._

**This is what I saw in my inbox today on AOL. You know what I thought..? "This is just...so strange. Toris getting raped by Matthew? W-what?" and then I paused, "...I have to do it." So congrats, 8Basketballdiva8. Dude, you rock man! I might have about 3 WIP chapters but this...this was too awesome to put off. Continuation of Chapter One...**

**WARNING, THIS CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN UNWILLING SEX BETWEEN COUNTRIES. NO LIKEY NO READY.**

**Enjoy~**

There comes a time in every shy person's life where things get too great for them to handle. But by now- it is already known that Matthew Williams, Canada, is by far no exception to this rule. He had Toris' hand in his own, grinning widely as the other shook in fear. The kind of fear that was normally reserved for the Russian was now given to the Canadian. It made Matthew feel pretty empowered by now.

"Toris~ theres not a reason why you should be scared." He stated suddenly. The snow crunching under their feet was the only thing really making noise the whole time. Toris didn't look at the Canadian. He didn't know what the hell to tell him...how to treat him. This was innocent sweet Matthew. Well, _was_. Now he was a blood crazed man looking for attention. Yet somehow he didn't give off that aura this time...this aura emitted from Matthew was something strange and foreign to even the Lithuanian. He finally locked eyes with Matthew.

And froze.

He wasn't expecting Matthew to be stairing at him the entire time. His cold violet eyes resembled Ivan's right now. Cold and hungry. Well, actually...he knew this cold dark stare of his. This is the look Ivan gave him when he wanted...

"M-Mister Canada I don't think.." He trailed off when Matthew's expression didn't even falter. But he saw it. A wide, dark smirk was growing on the Canadian's mouth as he watched Toris start to shake harder. There was nothing he could possibly do was there? Toris willed his legs to run but..nothing happened. But suddenly, he bolted off. He felt tears stinging in the corners of his eyes, it blurred his vision and for a while he couldn't tell where he was going. It was all white...and cold and...  
He screamed, feeling the pain of something connecting to his head. He fell, going down hard into the soft pillow-like snow. Pain exploded in his brain and he had to close his eyes. He whimpered lightly, but then felt pressure on his lower back. MAtthew was sitting on him now..he could definately tell be the shape of what was on his back.  
"...Where do you think you're going?" he asked suddenly, frowning more. He started stroking Toris' hair, grinning when he heard the whimper, "I wanted you to be with me." he stated, "And we were going to go ice skating eh?" he offered with a laugh, "I guess you have other plans...well that's okay. You wont have them anymore!" he offered brightly. He felt the other lightly struggle under his weight and he shoved the other's head back down into the snow. He paused, until the other stopped, and let his head get up to breathe. "I don't want you making a noise." Matthew began, starting to stroke the other's hair. His delicate hand went farther down the spine of the country under him, "Do you understand?" he asked with such ease and softness that it would give one a false sence of security. Toris didn't dare make a noise, as requested, and nodded in response. He closed his eyes tighter, shaking more.

Toris felt his pants slip down his hips, and he despirately grabbed at the snow. That was his only source of security at the moment. Cold, fluffy snow that would soon be stained red or melted from heat. Biting his bottom lip, he felt everything being done to him. The other's pale hand running over his smooth rump, being careful to actually prepare him first. Well, it was slightly better than Russia- but that doesn't mean he wanted it. He felt fingers go in, and grope and streach. It didn't even hurt at this point...nothing could honeslty. His whole body was already ripped apart and sewed together more times than he could even remember...whats one more time? Grunting lightly, ah, he felt it. He felt the Canadian entering him. For such a body he..he really was the second largest country. It did hurt, and he was bleeding slightly now, and every cell in his brain was screaming for it to stop. His body...his mind..his...his...

"STOP IT!" his mouth now. And did Toris instantly regret it. Pain erupted straight in his back. A switchblade..straight into his shoulderblade,

"I _told you_ not to make noise, eh!" eh screamed, "Dammit, I should bring a sewing kit with me...maybe I should cut out your tounge instead." A smirk grew wider, he was still inside Toris but didn't move. Not that the Lithuanian really could process this. He was scared out of his whits...and did the only thing he could at the moment,

"I-I am sorry M-Mister Canada..." he breathed out, shaking terribly, "I...I promise I will not do anything else..!" he begged, starting to cry. Matthew seemed to take pity on him..and started stroking his hair, but never touched the knife still dug deep in Toris,

"Toris...oh I'm sorry.." he cooed softly, "Just shut up and it'll be okay, eh?" he offered with a soft smile. Silence was bestowed on Toris once more. He gripped the snow as much as he could as his whole body started to be rocked and shaken violently as Matthew continued to have his way inside him. He couldn't help but cry silently from the pain in all his back regions. He made quiet whimpers but that was the extent of it. It would be over soon, the chant was on replay in his mind the entire time. He could get through this...it was bad but not as bad..! R-right...?

Matthew couldn't help but grab Toris' hips, digging his nails deep in the flesh to make him bleed even there. He breathed roughly as he fucked the man under him roughly. Gripping the knife in his shoulder blade tight in his hand, he pushed down. As he did this, Toris screamed and Matthew came inside him. Silence filled the air after a long moment, and Matthew just panted and watched the Baltic under him. He looked like he was in much...much pain. Ah..well that was upsetting him now,

"Mon dieu.." he mumbled quietly pulling away from Toris, "I-I didn't..I mean.." his eyes widened. The reality of what he had done to his poor friend was seeping in. What he's done to his whole entire family and world. It...it was terrible. "Toris I'm..I mean..." He trembled, and looked around. Shit. Nothing more he could do was there? Maybe...maybe if he just left him there...? Things would be okay...right? Matthew quickly turned on his heel and bolted out of the area in a hurry. He was just going to go home..pretend like none of this happened, and tomarrow? Tomarrow he'll be forgotten again...and he'll be okay again. He'll be quiet and meek and forgotten. That would be for the best right? Well...he certainly hoped.

Toris, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He was laying there, bleeding and freezing face down in the soft snow. He felt soft snowflakes hit is bare back and he shivered. It was very, very common he was going to freeze to death..or bleed to death. He wasn't even sure which one anymore. But, he hoped that something would happen soon. Safety or dying. Just anything to get him out of this misery. Fortunately for him, one of the options did come along fairly quickly.

…**.woo :D**

**I decided I should yanno...stop procrastinating and do it..so I did. Enjoy?**


	3. Latvian Rage

There comes a time in every abused person's life where it gets too great to handle. Raivis, Latvia, was by far not an exception to this rule. His whole life, hit, smacked, and verbally abused on a daily bases for the tiny country. It was just because of that, he was quiet and nervous. He shook and trembled at every little sound, any footstep. His brothers, although just as scared as him, didn't have this tourtre the smaller endured every day of his life.

It all started with Ivan Braginski, Russia, really. He was never a gentle man, and Raivis was just a small kid. All the time he would be pushed down and tortured, often having neck problems and mental scaring as well. He shakily stood next to his Mamio Leit watching him cook dinner in absolute silence. Lithuania gently patted his hair, offering a soft, nervous smile,

"Its okay," he assured the small boy. He always said this to Latvia, but it was never really meant. Both of them knew very well that no, it was not okay. It was never okay for Ivan to be so brute and terrible. Raivis seriously got hurt...alot...and nobody was doing anything to help. People just looked over, ignored the poor boy. He needed someone, he needed to be saved...but now he only had Mamio Toris and Tetis Eduard. They gave comfort, but they didn't give shelter. They where just as scared as he was, but they didn't show it atleast. It made the tinier feel a bit better, and Sealand helped too. Sometimes he'd pick up his small friend from the home and let him stay at his or Jerk England's house (depending if a hurricane hit or not). Raivis quite liked that, and was relaxing just slightly more when out of this house, way from Tranks Ivan. But that was not today.

"I'm home~" Ivan's smooth voice sang happily as he trotted inside. Leit noticed the smaller nation tense up, but before he could move Russia was already in the kitchen, "What is for dinner?" he asked with a sickly sweet grin. Lithuania paled, he knew Ivan was in a horrid mood right now. The aura emitted from the larger certainly was strong, but did Raivis feel it? Apperently so, because he already started tearing up in fear. Everyone knew what was coming.

"P-Pelmani..." Toris said softly, shaking his head lightly, "In...soup broth.." he whispered, quickly serving the dinner on the table. Russia only looked at it and frowned. He didn't want it.

"...you should ask what to make before hand, da?" he asked Toris, who started to tremble. His heart pounded as Ivan picked up the bowl of hot soup and smiled. All was dead silent before the scalding dinner was poured on the little Latvia. The two other watched, one in horror and the other in pleasure, as Raivis screamed in pain and tears fell out. What did happen, and what was expected, where two completely and drastically two different things. Raivis' screams of pain turned into screams of anger,

"Jus dels ir kuce!" He screamed, which completely caught Ivan off guard. He reached into his coat to take out his beloved tap. Someone needed punishment, and he would not hold back to present it. But Raivis had other plans. He grabbed the tap firmly and yanked it out of the older man's hands quite easily (considering Russia's grip wasn't that good on it).

"Raivis...we can make this alot worse, kolkolkolkol..." he laughed under his breath, but was cut short when a blow to his temple was given. He stood completely still, blood trailing down his fave. He was stunned, he couldn't fathom that Latvia of all people had just struck him. He was more concerned of Estonia rebelling and hitting back-even Toris for that matter. But never this sweet innocent scared nation. But he wasn't 'sweet innocent and scared' anymore. Now he was a crazed blood thirsty child, who pounced on Ivan. If the Russian was in the right state of mind, he wouldn't have fallen. But Raivis was ontop of him, and started beating on Ivan's head with his own tap,

"Vai tu kadreiz pieskarties mani atkal!" he screamed as he relentlessly bashed his head in, blood spurring from everywhere, getting all over the tiny boy. "Es parliecinieties ka jus nekad sazinaties mani atkal!" he screamed again, successfully breaking open his skull. Toris was too in shock to do anyting, to say anything. Ivan...was dead...Raivis...killed...Ivan...nothing was making sence in his brain, but he pulled the bloody boy off, "LET ME GO MAMIO LEIT!" he screamed thrashing around and dropping the tap. Toris was shaking, now afraid of Raivis and dropped him instantly. The tiny boy ran away, out of the house. He'd planned to go over to Peter's house today...well now he'll be there for another reason.

He easily spotted which car was the Kirkland's. He threw open the door and climbed in, grinning like a madman. All three passengers-Alfred, Arthur, and Peter-stared in shock. The silence was broken when Peter talked.

"Hey...Raivis...did Ivan hurt you that bad this time?" he aske,d looking over the blood-soaked boy. Raivis was silent for a while, before breaking out into a grin,

"...Its not my blood..." he breathed out, giggling before breaking out into full blown laughter, "Its finally not my fucking blood on me!" he screamed. Everyone paled. If that wasn't his own blood.

Then it had to have been Russia's.

fin.

**Heeeey guys Yandere!Raivis was pretty fucking epic no? If you didn't catch on...one chapter does NOT have to do with another. Yanno...just sayin'. Yes...why did I kill Ivan twice? I love Ivan personally...but that motherfucker writes his own deathwishes, I swear.**

**Translations: **

**Mamio- Mommy**

**Tetis - Daddy**

**Jus Dels ir kuce - You sonuva bitch**

**Vai du kaidreiz pieskarties mani atkal - Don't touch me again**

**Es parliecinieties ka jus nekad sazinaties mani aktal- I'll make sure you never abuse me again**


	4. Italian Rage

There comes a time in every idiot's life when things get too hard for them to handle. Felicnao Vargas, Italy, was no exception to this rule. Yes, he wasn't ware of his world most of the time, but when he was, life hit him pretty hard. He loved living with Ludwig, Germany, and loved the German himself. But Ludwig never showed or spoke his love as freely as Feliciano did. He didn't think much of it, he'd just chalk it up to Germans have a hard time expressing themselves and he'd eventually come around to it.

Unfortunately, his brother was the same way. But alot more blunt then Ludwig. For right now, he was getting rejected for love by both parties, and now he was seeing this very clearly. Why didn't they love him? Did he do something wrong? Maybe Italy was just a tool for Germany. Maybe Ludwig just wanted a good fuck and Feliciano was the only one stupid enough to fall for it. Now, this was not true in the least...but Italy got the thought in his head and it wouldn't leave no matter how much he wanted it to. He felt terrible...he was being quiet for a week with these thoughts. He ignored when Ludwig tried to talk to him, or tried to get intimate in bed. He wouldn't have either of it and that was bothering Ludwig. Something was wrong with his little Italian, and he didn't know what the hell it was. He wouldn't speak to him or anything when normally Italy would never shut up. He didn't really realize how much he missed his infernal babbling until he ceased it. He wanted Feli to speak now...and he wont.

"Ve...I invited big brother over," he said finally, standing in the kitchen and making pizza for his brother-his brother that never appreciated him-and pasta for himself and Ludwig, "He should be over soon," he offered a smile to the German for show. Ludwig nodded, thinking that he was stupid for assuming something was wrong. Feliciano didn't get upset, and if he did he'd have been whining and complaining to him in a matter of seconds. Sighing lightly, the german nodded,

"Alright." he agreed curtly. He never liked Lovino, but it was just another thing he sacrificed for his dear Feliciano. Maybe Romano would just shut up and eat his food and leave? Now that would just be great, less time with that dick the better.

xxxx

The sound of a ticking clock was never a comforting one. It was never good when you heard it, it always meant anticipation. But what could possibly be wrong? Feliciano opened the door, let Romano in, didn't greet him and just walked off. So both parties where sitting awkwardly on the couch, stairing around, listening to that infernal clock. It was nerve wracking, Italy wasn't being himself, the house was dead silent. Ludwig and Lovino didn't speak to eachother, nobody could find words (or insults to sling) at the given time. But the male soon came out, hiding something behind his back,

"Ve~ I have a question~!" he said brightly. Romano let out a sigh,

"You damn idiot! You'e so stupid, being all weird for a damn que-" he was cut off when he heard a gun cock. Yes, it was Ludwig's gun...but the operator was Feliciano. Romano gulped audibly, eyes widening as he darted to Ludwig, "...he's putting you up to this isn't he?" he screamed but suddenly he watched the male next to him look just as stunned as himself.

"No..~" He giggled happily, "I did it myself!" he said brightly, "I just want an answer." he said innocently, pointing the loaded gun at Ludwig for a minute, "A truthful answer." there was more silence that filled the air. Ludwig's chest clenched and Romano felt like he was going to throw up. Why...how was Feliciano standing there, holding the two people he held most dear to gun point? He moved the gun back to Romano, "Do you love me big brother?" he asked with big brown eyes, smile becoming slightly more psycotic. After a minute or two, he pressed the barrel straight to the male's head, "Well, do you?" he asked, more demanding this time. Lovino started to shake, finding it a better idea to have just staied home instead of mooching off his brother,

"O-Of course I do..." he mumbled, gasping as the barrel was jammed forward to hit his forehead hard.

"Of course what, big brother~?" he asked with a grin. Lovino's own wide brown eyes stared up at his brother,

"...O-of course I love you. T-Te amo.." he added quickly. Apparently that was good enough for Italy, because he aimed the gun back at Ludwig. Lovino sighed in relife. He didn't care of Ludwig died, but he himself couldn't! Especially not by his own pasta-brained brother. Well, judging by these actions, Feliciano had more then noodles in his noggin. But when Ludwig found himself in the hot-seat, he shook his head,

"...Feliciano are you seriously dou-" He paused when he saw the stern glare Feliciano gave him. No, he wasn't kidding was he? He wasn't playing around, he would shoot wouldn't he?

"Tell me Doitsu...do you really love me or am I just a fuck buddy~?" he asked with a grin, giggling lightly. Ludwig was taken aback. He was really being questioned if he loved Italy or not. He could have sworn that Italy knew how much he meant to him.

"How can you think that? I'd never use you Feliciano." He told the other sternly, crossing his arms before his forehead had a barrel pressed up to it. Obviously that wasn't the real answer Italy was seeking.

"...That was the wrong answer." he said simply, "Can I have the right one please~?" he asked softly. The blonde sighed, looking up at the Italian, feeling almost scared. He was in control, and he knew what he was doing.

"I now, have, and always will love you Feliciano." he told the other sincerely, "Ich leibe dich." he added. That was a good answer, and Feliciano gushed over it, putting the gun on the coffee table and jumping into the other's lap, snugglling him and giggling,

"Oh...you really mean it Ludwig~~?" He asked happily, nuzzling the blonde like a cat. Though Ludwig held him close, nodding. He didn't know what the hell came over Italy to make him so...demanding. But in all honestly, it was pretty sexy. He gently kissed Feliciano who kissed back in return. Romano stared, completely not understanding what the hell was going on. He blamed Germany and his potatoes for ALL of that. He got up and quickly exited the house. Not now, or ever, will he want to witness his brother put someone at gunpoint...or is brother and that potato bastard fucking on the couch.

fin.

**This one is slightly different then the other ones. I think if Italy ever snapped...he wouldn't have actually KILLED anyone...just have a small insane patch and threaten. Feli wont hurt anyone, he leaves that to Brother Romano.**


	5. Spanish Rage

There comes a time in every under-appreciated house-husband's life where things get too great to handle. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, Spain, was by far no exception to this rule. Yes, he did love his Lovino Vargas very, very dearly. He doted on him all the time, catered to every one of his needs (and forceful demands) day in and day out. And every single time it was with a smile. Antonio never complained, he was just so overwhelmed to have Lovino in his life, he simply forgot that he had needs, wants, and a limit as well.

Well it was like any other day, really. Antonio was cooking away in the kitchen-three different meals and none he wanted-for his dear Lovino and his own friends Francis and Gilbert. They where quite demanding today, but Antonio complied with a grin on his face anyway. If they where happy, he was happy. But he had to admit, he wasn't the best in the French or German culinary arts. Antonio would try though, please his friends, and that would ultimately make him happy as well. Atleast, that was the plan, anyway.

Antonio smiled lightly, quite happy with his creations he attempted. They looked pretty good...and they didn't taste terrible either. As a cook, you have to sample food and it did please his own pallet. Besides, the real challenge was pleasing France. But Spain was a good friend of his, so chances are he'd just compliment and eat it, whether it was a perfect French cuisine or just a heap of England's ***** with Antonio's name on it. "Lunch is done mi amgos~" he called happily, setting the table. He made Prussia some potato dumplings and France truffade (that really was the hardest to make), and decided on not to eat anything himself. But as the trio sat down, Antonio sat down next to Lovino who silently started eating his pizza. No, Antonio wasn't really expecting rave reviews, but maybe a 'thanks' would be nice right? There was silence as Gilbert first ate, choking on it.

"Geez Toni!" He yelped, "Taste like fucking shit! Are you trying to bump my awesomeness off by feeding me this crap?" he asked rather rudely, huffing, "I swear. I'd rather go eat at Artie's house." Antonio didn't get a chance to reply. He was more thinking of ways to make up why he didn't like it. Maybe it was just Gilbert...and Gilbert could be picky...well not really. But was it like England's cooking...? He looked to Francis as he tried his won, he noticed him cough too,

"Mon deiu.." he choked out, "...I have to agree with Gilbert this time...Antonio your cooking it a bit...lacking." he tried to be tactful about it, but really it wasn't working, "It really does make my dear Angleterre seem like a-" Nobody was quite sure what exactly happened until France felt the terrible sting of a plate to his head, shattering on him leaving cuts and bruises. Gilbert stopped griping, and Lovino stopped eating to stare at the very pissed off looking Antonio.

"I didn't _have_ to do that you ungreatful little fuckers!" he snapped suddenly, causing all eyes to go so wide as they stared at the Spanish man screaming at them, "I don't ahve to do ANYTHING for you! But I do, and really I don't know why. None of you really care when I fucking do it!" There was just more silence until Antonio threw a punch at Gilbert next, causing him to fall over. Lovino was quite terrified of his lover, a few tears starting to fall out,

"H-Hey bastard! D-don't-!" that earned the small Italian a death glare, then a smile that could give Russia's a run for his money.

"...You're the last one to be talking, Lovi." he hissed darkly, "You're the primary source of my frustrations." France tried desperately, picking up the Prussian in his arms, who growled lightly, grumbling ugly German under his breath. He was not happy in the least bit, that bitch when Psycho! Though Antonio caught his friends in the act of trying to run away. "Oh no you don't." he growled, grabbing both by the hair and causing a simultaneous yelp. Nobody had EVER seen Antonio mad, especially to this degree to actually be dishing out pain to people. Lovino had long since fled the room, hiding in the bedroom. He was so scary! But he'd never admit he was afraid, anyway.

Antonio violently threw the two down into the wall, causing a chorus of groans in retaliation. "I am overwork, nobody cares about it," he growled, giving a swift kick to the other's, "ALL I WANT IS SOME APPRECIATION DAMMIT!" he screamed, tears forming in his eyes as he picked up a near-by umbrella and started beating the two, "DON'T. YOU. TAKE. ME. FOR. GRANTED!" the rest nobody understood, considering it was all in Spanish. But nobody was caring anyway-being beaten with an umbrella, blood started spurring out of their mouths. Gilbert grabbed the umbrella, hissing,

"GODDAMMIT ANTONIO!" he snapped, "WE GET IT!" but this was just more fuel to the fire. He was getting more pissed off just by the words alone. He felt like they really weren't getting the message, so he threw the item at the two and stormed off to the kitchen. Francis held onto Gilbert tightly, shaking a bit,

"...w-what has gotten into our Petite Toni?" he whispered quietly, staring at the empty door frame, expecting the other to come back out. Gilbert shook his head, wiping his bloodied nose on his sleeve,

"Gott I don't know..." he whispered back, frowning, "...its kinda hot though." he smirked a little, getting a strange glance from Francis. Prussia blinked, "What?" he snapped, "I think its pretty hot.." he admitted before he saw the man come back with the pan full of saute'd potatoes and dumplings in the like. He grinned widely,

"...I hope you like them enough. They're still hot so, eat up." he giggled a little, dropping the pan and its scalding contense on the two. He only laughed more when he heard more screams in pain as the food and heavy metal burnt and dented skin. They better remember next time. He was a person too. "I fucking have needs too." he snapped suddenly, "And I expect you to meet mine next time, do I make myself clear?" Antonio asked, smiling happily as the two nodded vigerously. "Okay! No leave~" he purred, scampering off to find Lovino.

He had a special punishment for Lovino, anyway.

fin.

**thats right ladies and gents...RAEP THAT LOVI. **

**I can't write it in because I'm using the school computer D:**

**I promise rape later if you guys REALLY want it though.**

**(I know I do hurhurhurrrrr~~~~~~~)**


	6. Spanish Rage II Italian Rape

There comes a time in every whimp's life where things get too great for them to handle. Lovino Vargas, South Italy, was by far no exception. No, he was not the one to snap, but his husband was. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo had snapped. It had scared the normally brute Italian and he tried hiding in the closet. He shook, hearing screaming coming from the livingroom. It was so...different to him. Spain was never like this, ever...he never treated anyone wrong! But to know the true force of someone you thought was as harmless as a fly was always the most shocking.

His heart raced as he heard footsteps get closer to the bedroom. No, he didn't want to be yelled at by Antonio! Dammit, why did this happen anyway? Maybe he shouldn't insult his cooking? Well, maybe. But he wasn't the one who did it! Was Antonio mad at him or did he just want him to come out?

"Piqueno Lovi~" he purred softly, walking into the room with a famous big smile on his face, "Don't you want to come out and play~?" he laughed brightly, but the meanings of his words is what shook Lovino completely. Play? What the hell did that bastard think this ways? What the hell was he planing? He didn't know and quite frankly, he didn't want to find out, either. "Come on Lovino, don't deny me." he mumbled and he slung open the door, grinning wide at the tiny Italian in fetal position. "Oh there you are~!" he cooed brightly, picking him up, "I have something special for you~" he laughed again, feeling the shutter run through Romano's whole body.

"Y-You stupid bastard," he snapped, "Put me down, leave me alone!" he shrieked, trying despirately to get away. He wanted out of his grasp, he wanted to go to Feliciano's house (even if that Potato bastard was there!) and just...kinda stay there until Antonio stopped this madness. But he was jolted out of his thoughts rather quickly as he was laid on the bed, feeling the weight of Antonio ontop, "DAMMIT! GET OFF ME ANTONIO!" he screamed at the other, kicking his feet wildly before Antonio ripped off his shirt,

"I wouldn't make so much noise, Lovi," he stated as he trailed kisses down his torso, leaving harsh nips that make the Italian hiss in pain, "It would be worse if you did." But Lovino wouldn't hear of it. He continued to struggle as his Husband forcfully ravished him with harsh bites and and violent scrapes down sensitive flesh. Before Lovino even knew it, his pants where off and to the ground, and he was completely naked.

"I don't want it Antonio! Go get lost!" he snapped before screaming. Antonio had taken his cock in, and bit it hard near the head. It was painful...extreamly painful for that matter. He didn't know if it broke skin and bled, but it sure did hurt like a fucker, "OW!" he shrieked, trying to kick the other off before another bite of the like returned. This was not his usual, sensual foreplay Spain always loved. This was very odd, torturous, foreplay (If it could be called that) that Romano was not liking all too much. He started crying as Antonio climbed atop him, pants open to reveil his own flaccid member,

"I want to you suck, si?" he asked softly, but Romano wouldn't open his mouth for the other. He was done coaxing his lover in a matter of seconds and violently twisted a nipple, causing a scream form from the man under him. Antonio smirked, taking his advantage to forcefully shove his cock in, fucking his face rather roughly. Lovino didn't know what else to do but respond, so he did. His tounge meekly licked as he sucked on the accursed appendage that was forced into his mouth. He gagged as Antonio roughly bucked in and out of his mouth. His lungs where screaming and his body needed the oxygen that wasn't getting too him. Though just before he felt like he was going to pass out, Antonio pulled out his erection, smiling a bit, "See, its not so bad." he said innocently, but Romano was panting for air.

"I-I don't want this Spain..!" he choked out, making the Spanish man frown deeply. He didn't reply, just sitting atop his lover and watching him. He seemed to be contimplating whether he should be doing this or not. It was Lovino...is wife...but he needed to be taught a lesson, he reasoned in his mind, and this is probably the only way to really do the trick. He then broke out into a smile, shimming down his lover to rest on his thighs. Giggling lightly, he forcefully pulled his legs impossibly apart, causing another pained scream to come from the smaller man, a soft pop making itself known in his joints. Spain kissed Romano's hip, then is flaccid head and nuzzled his groin a bit.

"Its okay." He said quietly. Lovino was quite confused this time, but all his thoughts where immediately scrambled as Spain roughly thrusted in to him. One time, all the way through. Lovino screamed, feeling like he was going to die. He wasn't streached or handled with care or anything...Antonio wasn't small nor slim, either. He felt like he was going to split in two, especially when the other started coursing in and out through him, taking absolutely no heed to any word of protest, screams of pain, or the amount of blood that was starting to fill inside Lovino. The Italian started crying and screaming in pain, he couldn't stop Antonio, he was too small and too weak. His blurry tear filled eyes opened as he looked at Antonio. He seemed...very happy as he violently fucked his wife. A little too happy, and that was another thing that was scaring Lovino.

"STOP IT ANTONIO!" he screamed, clinging to the bed as his whole body wracked from the rapid thrusts into him, "IT HURTS TOO MUCH!" He would have tried kicking the Spainard off if he had any feeling left in his legs at all. Anything below his waist was completely dead and numbed with pain. Lovino was just about ready to pass out when Antonio came deep in side him with a content sigh. Slowly he pulled out of the other, watching as cum and blood oozed out of his lover's entrence. He thought for a while before getting off the other and scooping him up into his arms,

"...Lets go take a bath now, no?" he offered softly, grinning as he took his shivering, broken lover to the bathroom so casually like he did absolutely nothing. "y...te amo mi pequeno tomato rojo~" he added with a soft smile.

Lovino nor Gilbert and France ever spoke about this again.

fin.

**Okay...it was promised now here it is *giggle***

**I have to up the rating to R now...onhonhon...**

**Who else should snap? Any ideas?**

**R&R! I LOVE REVIEWS! Review multiple times if you want! I LOVE IT.**


	7. Japanese Rage

There comes a time in every quiet person's life where things get too great for them to handle. Honda Kiku, Japan, was by far no exception to this rule. He never spoke his mind, really. Vash, Switzerland, really pointed that out on many occasions. But his little meager thoughts where nothing but a speck, or so he thought. He was quite bright, actually. Alot more then he gave himself credit for...as well as other people. Some might even take advantage of him, but Japan was not one to overlook it. Sure, he might haven't said anything at the time, but he'd do the deed half-assed on spite. But the problem was, half-assed for Kiku was extreamly good quality.

But like everyone who is passive, they keep their feelings locked up inside. He didn't know he was capable of much more then just a few hushed rude words here or there, so he never thought much of anything else wanting to bubble out. The male sighed lightly as he petted Pochi lightly on the head, the little Shiba Inu was happily trotting alone inbetween Kiku's legs as he cooked for the Axis Powers as well. To be honest, he was tired. His days where long and appreciation short. Though the man had to cringe as he heard the door slam open,

"Ja~Paaaaan~!" he called out loudly, running in with the German yelling at him to shut up and don't be so rude. Yes. Do shut up and stop being rude.

"Kitchen." The Japanese man replied curtly as he turned his head to meet the boy pullnig him into a hug,

"Ve~ You look cute like that." Feliciano mewled brightly. Truth be told, the smaller was in his apron and bandanna like a typical Japanese house maid. This caused his face to flair up in heat and embarassment. Cute? Couldn't Feliciano just go away...

"Well I.." he was cut off when Ludwig grabbed his boyfriend's hand and forcefully dragged him off the tinier.

"Dammit." he hissed, "You know he hates when you do that." he pointed out roughly, causing the Italian to pout. Kiku watched as they bickered like the old married couple they'd soon, one day atleast, become. It was quite frustrating and really, he felt out of the loop most of the time. He had a boyfriend, sure, but he wasn't able to spend every waking moment with him like the German and Italian couple could. That made him feel well...what was that word? What was that feeling...Jealous? Maybe. But he shrugged it off. Right now his boyfriend was a secret-his boyfriend was an Allied Power. And that has been weighing him down quite a bit in his mind. He had to fight the one he loved (not like he hasn't done it in the past, but the past was in the past now), and nobody knew it except for the two Asians themselves.

"Ve ve~!" Feliciano squeaked, "Doitsu! Not here!" he giggled out happily as the older German started kissing and licking at his neck, "K-Kiku's right...!" he giggled more as he was groped. Kiku never expressed that he minded (though he did. A lot.), so the Europeans always took it as a free range to fuck and fondle eachother all the time in Kiku's presence. It...it...

It was infurating to the little Asian. It wasn't fair that he couldn't have Yao. And Ludwig and Feliciano didn't have to grope and fondle eachother at every given moment of the day. They could have atleast _thought_ of Kiku and reserved it for the bedroom. He could handle seeing chaste kisses and hand holding...but once the Europeans managed to have sex at the dinner table. While Kiku was eating dinner.

He tightened the hold on the pan in hand, growling lowly. That was it. "Ludwig-san, Feliciano-san...I'd appreciate it if you didn't-" and his words where on def ears as Feliciano moaned and groaned and wiggled in pleasure as the two nations where making out right on his table. He felt himself twitch a little, not even registering when a loud thwack was heard and Ludwig fell to the ground. In all honesty, he was going to ask what happened before he noticed that he struck his Ally. His eyes widened as Feliciano started crying and sniffling over a stunned Ludwig who tried to really process what happened. But as soon as Kiku realised _what_ had happen, he did it again. And again. He started screaming,

"KEEP IN YOUR PANTS HORNY BASTARD!" The Japanese man cried. When the German started bleeding he grabbed the hot cooking pan and Feliciano tried to pull Kiku away,

"Don't hurt Doitsu..!" he choked out, but that only earned a punch from the smaller. All three where stairing at one another, but then Kiku darted out. He ran, and ran fast.

Now, he did know where the meeting was being held today for the Allied Powers. He didn't care...he wanted Yao right now. He needed to talk to him and quite frankly, he didn't care how he got there and who he had to hurt either. He threw open the door to the conference room, which showed only the Asian, American, and Brit. Alfred frowned,

"Dude! Japan's here! Why is Japan here?" he cried, frowning deeply. The Brit and American lept into action, trying to fight the little Asian out. But the bad thing was, he still had his pan. He screamed, starting to hit and wack the nations off of him.

"You bloody git!" Arhur screamed as he was hit in the face, trying to strangle the Jap. The problem was Alfred kept getting in the way. The three bodies meshed and tangled, screams and protest could be heard. All Yao could do was stare. He was very shocked at his lover's violent actions. Yao could only watch as a bloody mess unfolded itself. It didn't take too long for the nations to be knocked out-cast iorn wasn't too friendly on the brain-and that only left the Asians.

"...Yao..." he breathed, running over and jumping into his arms. The Chinese man stared,

"Aiya...Kiku what did you...?" he looked around, in shock and horror. But the little nation just kissed and licked his neck, groaning lightly. He didn't want this...he didn't...! He gasped as he was pushed to the floor. Yao would never have guessed that he'd be a victim of rape, and Kiku would be the rapist.

fin.

**not as good as I hoped but...eeeh...who wants more rape! I know I do! Review even if you have before! I LOVE EM!**


	8. North American Rage  AU

(**Hey man stop right there!** **Do you know whats so special about this chapter? You don't? Well! Its AU of course~ Gakuen Hetalia to be precise. Does anyone like this idea? If you don't, tell me in the comment after reading ja? ALSO! This chapter is all about Mattie and Al...Alfred does have a strong relationship with his brother. I mean really, don't YOU love your baby brother even if they're a pain in the ass? Danke~ now, on with the story!**)

There comes a time in every pair of Twin's life when things get too great for them to handle. Our first set of Twins, Alfred and Matthew, are by far no exception to this rule. They always were a bit off, even growing up. Alfred was loud and courageous, Matthew was meek and mild. But the brothers did share a lovely bond, to say the least. Even if Alfred would sometimes forget him, or fight with him-they where brothers, and that's just what brothers do. Though Matthew was forgotten with the whole school really. This one Cuban kid really did pick on little Mattie a lot, but mysteriously 'transferred to another school' abruptly right after the twins got into high school.

Dispite the vicious rumors going around, Alfred was highly protective of his brother. He never really showed it in public, actually, but at home or when it was just the two he was very kind and loving to Matthew. The younger did understand-he was a football jock and he himself was just a Lacrosse and hockey player-and was quite contented with their secret bond outside of school.

If there was one thing Alfred could say he hated about his baby brother, was that he was dating the stupid French-Frog known as Francis Bonnefoy. For about two years at this point, they where always so perverted with each-other (mainly Francis) and Alfred always had to take the fall of the kinky phone texts that always came up on the bills. His parents would kill Matthew, but root Alfred on. But still, he absolutely hated the fucker. His reputation in the school could be summed up in one word-Whore. But naturally, being in a tight knit group called "The Bad Touch Trio", what more was to be expected? But Antonio wasn't to blame, he was too ditzy to know anything that was going on anyway.

Speak of the Devil, the trio where in the library, the Spanish male streatched across a German and Frenchman, getting completely fondled as he eagerly watched Spanish Soap Operas on his mp4 player-this was the other two's secret weapon. Antonio was oblivious to the world if he watched _Chiquititas _(his favourite Telenovela) and didn't pay much mind if someone was to, oh lets say, grope his junk like Francis was? Gilbert never really played in front, but he did have a total fondness to Antonio's ass. It was always so perfect and round and just flat out _nice_. But he also wasn't daring enough like Francis was. Unlike the Frog's passive boyfriend, Gilbert's Roderich was a complete prissy bitch who he secretly wanted to please the hell out of even if he acted like he didn't care. In short, the Austrian got him whipped.

The American casually strode over, eyeing Francis dangerously, "Hey," he began, "Are you fishing for sausage?" he asked rudely, only to get a laugh from Francis,

"Oh mon ami," He began, "We are simply friends," he began, "Friends for a very long time, Matthieu wouldn't mind if I just had some innocent fun, oui?" Innocent his ass. There was nothing innocent by giving an oblivious Spaniard a hand-job in public. Chances were Matthew didn't know of, as Francis would say, these little 'rendez vous' with Antonio and Gilbert that happened way too often for anyone's likings really. But the American really did put on a fake smile and laughed,

"Does he know?" he asked with a laugh, playing it off as nothing when really, Francis was digging his own grave right now. But the Frenchman didn't even realise it. No, playing with 'Spanish Churros' was far more interesting then listening to the American speak about his beloved Matthieu.

"Well..." Francis started, shrugging lightly, "What he doesn't know wont hurt him, Oui?" he offered carelessly, flicking his wrist lightly (The one out of the pants, of course). Alfred laughed slightly, shrugging a bit,

"Hey, Francis. I got something to tell you, mind if we step away for a minute?" The frenchman looked reluctant, like he could smell fear a mile away, but nodded in agreement. He told Gilbert to take good care of the _Espangol Angelique _ as he got up, brushing his hair away from his face and walking out with Alfred to the courtyard,

"Is there a problem, mon ami?" he asked curiously, raising his prim eyebrow. This made the american twitch. God, did he hate this man. He hated him so much it just...he couldn't help but to just...! He growled, punching Francis right in the face. This caused Bonnefoy to stumble back, his nose bleeding from the collision of the fist. "Mon dieu!" he cried, growling, "What was that for you _batard_!" he cried, frowning. But Alfred just smiled,

"Its okay, we're friends." he started, slinging off his backpack and hitting the other square in the face. He gasped, falling back to lean into the brick wall. He was very certain it was over until he felt the weight of the other over take him. He gasped as his neck was grabbed fiercely, nails digging into the milky flesh and starting to draw blood from it. "You stupid French-Fog-Faggot!" he snapped at the other, "I hate you! Especially since you take advantage of my baby brother!" he screamed irritably, then he started to shake the other's head hard. It started to get cracked up against the wall with such force it could be heard from almost anywhere in the school. That goes to say that at this point, blood was spilling everywhere. Alfred grinned wildly at the broken man that was getting more broken by the second. HE deserved it! He deserved everything because of that stupid-

"...A-Alfred!" a soft voice shreiked. The teen looked over to meet wide, scared matching Blue eyes like his own. Shit. Matthew ran over, tears spilling out, "Alfred! What did you do?" he screamed in horror, crying harder over his unconsious brother.

"H-Hey! Its not my fault! That bastard-" The American was silenced from a hard punch to the face. At first, he thought Bonnefoy got up and was fighting back, but when he actually looked...it was Matthew. Being shocked he didn't even realise that Matthew struck him again, and this time pushed him down to the ground. He started screaming at him, what he didn't know. He was slowly losing conciousness as his face was losing blood. HE coughed and choked as his neck was squeased tightly as well. Dammit...his brother was killing him! Someone had to do something..! Though Matthew stopped slowly, stairing at the other. He really did feel bad...but really angery as well. He stood up, kicking his brother in the rubs,. "...I hate you." he hissed, picking up his boyfriend and helping him to the nurse. Needless to say, Matthew never spoke to Alfred again.

Fin.

(...yay Twin Snapped! One on Francis and the other on his brother! WHOOO!)


	9. Southern Italian Rage

There comes a time in every Bastard's life when things get too great for them to handle. Lovino Vargas, Southern Italy, was by far no exception to this rule. He'd spend his time pushing his lover around, Antonio, taking advantage of his brother, Feliciano, and sometimes being an overall jackass. But things did get to him, despite what he let on. All the time he'd hear Feliciano talk to highly of Germany. All the time he'd hear that sweet adoring voice that was reserved for only Ludwig in himself. He was very, very pissy about that. He wasn't supposed to talk highly of that Macho-Potato-bastard! Especially when...well...it wasn't to him at all.

Antonio noticed his lover acting out a lot more then usual. It was quite unusual really, Lovino seemed much depressed as of late and the Spaniard couldn't put his finger on it. It was really concerning him though, so he brought Feliciano and Ludwig over for a nice visit too. He had made a large Pizza with Lovino's favourite toppings on it and had it out as he waited for the other two to come over. He hummed lightly, watching Lovino watch the Television. The Italian looked highly upset right now, and it made Antonio upset too.

"Niño..." He called softly, a little name that would stick to the Italian for the rest of his life, "Would you like a piece of Pizza before the get here?" he offered with a wide grin, hoping this would bring Lovino out of his funk. Though the Italian only frowned, grunting a little,

"Go away, _cazzo_." he huffed irritably, curling up tighter on the couch. The Spanish man felt his heart break as he nodded,

"Very well then." he said softly, "If you say so..." As he strode back to the kitchen to serve the wine, he heard the knock on the door. He knew that Lovino would not get it, and he mentally cursed at the fact he was _just in there_ and now had to go all the way back! But it didn't matter too much to him, as long as he saw his favourite Italians and his best friend's baby brother. He trotted out of the room and opened the door, "Ho-" he was cut off mid-sentence as Feliciano drew his arms around the other tightly,

"Ve~! Toni~!" he cried brightly, snuggling the Spaniard happily. Ludwig could only shake his head, though he knew that Italy's antics where just part of who he was. Who was Ludwig to change such a person? Antonio laughed brightly, snuggling little Feliciano tightly, kissing his forehead,

"¡Ah, mi chico~!" He laughed brightly, "¿Como estas?" He asked the younger, ushering both of them into the house. Italy looked blankly for a moment, before giggling,

"Do you mean 'come sei'?" he asked innocently before getting a pat on the head,

"Just tell me how you are, mi chico~" Antonio grinned as they made their way to the living-room. To the Spanish man's surprise, the Southern Italian was curled up in the corner of the couch, blissfully ignoring the other three in the house. Though Feliciano plopped his tush down right next to his brother, saying a quick 'Ciao Fratello~' before watching Antonio sit down on the chair across from them, fully absorbed into what the other was going to say. Ludwig had sat down next to Feliciano and the Italian in return latched onto him quickly,

"Ve~ Ludwig has been taking care of me so well!" he exclaimed brightly, snuggling into the brute German, who allowed it, "He cooks me dinner a lot too! And its not all icky sausages either," he pointed out, using that love-struck-teenager voice again and sighing in delight, "He even asked me to marry him~!" Feliciano concluded, showing off the ring on his finger. This caused a gasp of surprise from the Spaniard, his little Feliciano was getting married! Before he could even say anything, Romano's gaze was on his brother,

"...Married, Veneziano?" He asked quietly. He couldn't quite believe that one. Though his brother nodded wildly, giggling wildly. "...Oh." he frowned a bit, there was a long streatch of silence and everyone thought that Romano was going to scream and rant and possibly cry but...he didn't.

Instead, Lovino looked back with a bright happy grin that was normally only seen on the Northern half, "That's so great, Fratello~!" he said happily, clinging to his brother tightly, snuggling him. Now this...this wasn't right. This caused a disturbance in the household and everyone froze, everyone stared. What was Lovino doing? That wasn't him...that wasn't like him at all! It was quite scary, actually.

"...Lovi...what are you doing...?" Feliciano asked, but Spain had come over to gently pick up the tinier off his brother, who in return clung to Spain and nuzzled and loved him happily,

"I'm not doing anything." he responded simply, _giggling_ lightly. Lovino made a strange purring noise as he kissed Antonio, "I love you, is that a crime Toni?" he asked, blinking his large eyes. Everyone in the room had a sinking feeling in their stomachs. Normally if Lovino just did this, Antonio would be bouncing off the walls and taking pictures for his scrap-booking. But under these circumstances, it was wrong. Something mentally snapped in Lovino and the Spaniard and German where quite aware of this. But Antonio let him down lightly and the Italian beamed at Germany now, waving happily, "Oh, Ludwig...I have something special for you!" he said as bright as his brother would have. But as Ludwig was going to respond, he felt a very sharp pain in his chest. Why where the Spanish and Northern Italian men screaming? Was that his gut instinct telling him not to? No.

That was Lovino plunging a knife through him.

Panic swept throughout the whole room as blood started spurring from Ludwig, who was much too in shock to do anything about it. Lovino was atop of him, screaming loudly in his face as he drew the knife out again,

"Come hai potuto? Questo è il mio fratello!" He screamed, "You can _not_ marry him you Potato bastard!" he ignored the screamed and pleas from Feliciano to stop, focusing on the wrestling having to be done with the German under him. Both fell to the floor, but the fight only lasted a second longer as Spain picked up Lovino instinctively. He had been crying, he was pretty scared...

"Tha...Thats enough, niño..." he whispered in the Italian's ear, who only really wriggled more violently, "Feli, call the hospital." he instructed, swiftly taking the older Italian away, kicking and screaming all the while. Nobody really heard from either Antonio or Lovino for a long, long time.

Fin.

**Hey guys! Two in a week! WHAT! Yes...Lovino snapped a little differently then normal. I figured that he wouldn't go **_**straight**_** to anger, but have some creepy mental hospital happiness thrown in there first. What happened to everyone? I'll leave that for you to decide.**

**Next time on Onomatopoeia- Greek Rage! Want a little preveiw?**

_ There comes a time in every relaxed person's life when things get too great for them to handle. Heracles Karpulsi, Greece, was by far no exception to this rule. It wasn't so much life, but the people in it. The people meaning Turkey. That man grated and every last nerve that Greek boy had, and he was silently and lazily fed up with it. But he'd let it go on just a bit longer, he was sleepy now._

**THATS ALL YOU GET! AHAHAHAHAH**


	10. Greek Rage

There comes a time in every relaxed person's life when things get too great for them to handle. Heracles Karpulsi, Greece, was by far no exception to this rule. It wasn't so much life, but the people in it. The people meaning Turkey. That man grated and every last nerve that Greek boy had, and he was silently and lazily fed up with it. But he'd let it go on just a bit longer, he was sleepy now.

There was a certain silence in the room as Kiku Honda, his wife, was in the kitchen making dinner. Unknown to the man sleeping on the couch, someone was going to come over for a little visit. Kiku brought it upon himself to end the fude between the two countries by settling it like they were human beings. Which, they were when they entered the Honda-Karpulsi home. Turkey was a good friend of Kiku but he didn't get to spend much time with the male because of his Husband. It was old news and they shouldn't hate eachother, so that's exactly what Kiku would help with.

Hearing the ominous knock on the door, he wiped his hands on his apron and turned off the stove (he didn't want a fire to break out!) before slipping off his bandanna. He stumbled lightly as he entered the livingroom, not wanting to wake Heracles, and opened the door with a gentle, soft smile.

"Welcome, Turkey-san." he began, "I am very appreciative that you agreed to come." But unknown to the Turkish man himself, Heracles was there, living with Japan.

"Yo!" he greeted all too loudly, giving the male a pat on the back roughly, causing him to stumble forward a bit and blush, "Its about time you invited me over!" he frowned a little, "Startin' to think you didn't like me.." he trailed off, making Kiku jump a bit.

"O-Oh no, Turkey-san, that's not it at all," He watched as the masked man smirked, obviously killing the facade of being upset, "I've been...having a lot of new experiences in my li-"

"Save your breath, Kid," he began, "I'm just kidding around, jeez. Don't be so serious." He shook his head as he waltzed in, looking over the knick-knaks from all over the world. Kiku Honda was such a tourist it really wasn't funny. Once he opened up to the world, he explored as much as he could in such a small amount of time. He collected momentous and took pictures of _everything_. His house reflected that too, he had pictures of Lady Liberty...some wheat field in Canada...Big Ben and the Eiffel Tower. But also, there was pictures of his friends as well. The Axis Powers, naturally, Alfred too. He grimaced at the picture of Heracles and all the cats. "The hell do you got this bastard displayed?" Oh how Kiku heard that (in not as many words) from Heracles when he tried to put a picture up of Turkey.

"Well you see.." The Japanese male fidgeted nervously, fumbling on words that would never come. How was one supposed to avoid this question? He wanted to settle this dispute once and for all but...right now it sounded like a terrible idea. He could only watch in horror and embarrassment as Turkey continued surveying all of the pictures on hand. What was this? A picture of Kiku and Heracles at a Sakura Festival...then a picture of them kissing ("Ew! The fuck!") but only on further examination, and help from the few pictures of the like, it was their wedding day. The man halted immediately, staring at the pictures, then Japan,

"Is there something you never told me, Japan?" Turkey asked flatly, clearly not happy. The Japanese man still couldn't find any words to say, or figure out any explanation that would make this situation right. "Where is he." He asked suddenly, glaring daggers as he slipped off his mask, frowning more.

"W-What do you..?" he jumped as Turkey started advancing towards him, subconsciously taking a few stepped back. He could feel the other's anger well up and spill out in a sea of evil aura. It wasn't a good feeling, it was suffocating him. At least it wasn't as bad as Ivan's aura-asphyxiations? Not quite...

"Greece," He spat out, "Where is he?" Before the other replied, or could think of a reply, Heracles was off the couch, standing tall as he frowned at Turkey, putting a large hand on a small shoulder to comfort the smaller,

"Get out.." he mumbled lazily, but there was a hint of undertone that really did scare Kiku. The problem was, Turkey didn't buy it at all. The Turkish man only scoffed, crossing his arms,

"Funny. I was about to say the same." he spat, "What did you do to Japan now? More silly stories and forced marriages?" he narrowed his eyes at the Greek, whose anger was rising now. It took a lot to anger Heracles, but it took even more to make him act upon these angery urges.

"It wasn't forced...I asked...he said yes..." He responded, "Simple as that." he added, snuggling Kiku for good measure. The Japanese man really thought it would be much easier if he just stood out of it. It was good they were talking right? Maybe they'd share a few bad words before actually settling down? Maybe...

"Kiku deserves so much better then-" And that was it. The day Heracles promised himself would some day come happened. Some day was today as the Greek reared back his fist and punched the former Ottoman Empire right in the face. This settled a very uncomfortable, thick silence for a split second. Everyone took a breather to realise what happened before Turkey launched his counter-attack. He screamed at the other, tackling to the ground and started beating on the normally relaxed Greek. But all be damned when that Greek started fighting back. He was stronger, and easily flipped the Turkish man over, pounding in his face,

"Don't even say shit like that." he growled lowly at the other, "Μισώ τόσο πολύ.." Heracles was pounding relentlessly into the man under him, blood was pouring out of his nose and mouth. Turkey could barely fight back at this point, and glanced to Kiku briefly, giving him a pleading look that Japan was too stunned to respond to. Despite the pleas and grunts of the Turkish man, and the quieter more frighten ones of Kiku, he didn't stop. Hercales wouldn't stop until that man was dead. His large hand was on top of his windpipe, slowly crushing it and smirking a bit. He felt the satisfaction of the man's gasps for air and it just made him feel so amazing...to finally have Turkey dead...what a treat for the Greek. He wasn't vocal about any of this though, he was _silently_ killing this man, and that was probably the most scary part of it.

Kiku couldn't take it anymore, and he pressed into Heracles' back,

"Please..." he whispered, "Stop." he asked, but only got backhandedly slapped in the face. The sound of the slap and the fall of Kiku finally made the male stop. His eyes widened and immediately abandoned Turkey on the floor, going over to Kiku who rubbed his face,

"Kiku I..." he looked down, "...I didn't realise...it was you.." he admitted weakly, wanting forgiveness. Kiku only stared at the other. He was in shock still. Not only did the other just beat the living shit out of Turkey...he just struck his wife. Kiku tried to piece things together, but when he did he felt tears prick his eyes getting up and running out of the room, to his bedroom. He didn't want to see Heracles right now...The Greek sensed and respected this, but it didn't stop him from picking up the unconscious Turk on the floor and literally kicking him out of the house. He closed and locked the door before slipping down to sit in front of the bedroom door. For Kiku, he could wait.

Fin.

**Uh...so...there's Heracles' snap! Haha probably not as good as you folks wanted huh? I especially had difficulties writing as Turkey. I haven't seen him in the manga/Anime much cos I can't watch Hetalia because my computer's dead*. But I tried my best...hopefully the next will be better. The next, actually, will be another Canadian Rage (Possible AU Canadian Rage? Think its a good idea, then please comment and tell me Da or Nyet). This one will be AWESOME. Inspired by (DeviantART name) Audacitte's picture of little bitty Matthew with a fucking fourty pound Curling Rock with Alfred's name on it. Ah, that got me thinking and all worked up (kidding)! So here's to you, Audacitte!**

**Also, heres to you, all my loyal watchers and readers! I'm so happy that this story's getting alot of attention! And I thank and love every single one of you to read this! Even if most people petered out after the second sentence of this abnormally long Authors Note.**

**ALSO! A special thanks to Sixta, for uploading the past three (4?) chapters for me! YOU RAWK HONEY! 3**

**Until next time~ Moi-moi!~**


	11. Canadian Rage AU

There comes a time in every competitor's life where things get too great for them to handle. Matthew Bonnefoy, a high school senior, was by far no exception to this rule. He did have a calm, passive demeanor that made him get forgotten at times, but he didn't mind. Though there was a certain time where he would completely neglect that large portion of himself. Two times, to be precise. When Bonnefoy was out on the ice, he fought with all he could. It got to the point when people wouldn't play Hockey with him anymore because they went home with bruises and the occasional broken bone.

But one thing his brother loved as well, was competing with his step-brother. Their parents, Arthur and Francis, got married when they were young so the actual division of being non-blood related wasn't there. Even if both his step-'mother' and -brother forgot about him very often and made him do chores, his Papa was always there to make it better. Wether it was telling them to do it themselves or simply doing it he never let his Mattie lift a finger. Though Matthew did do some cleaning, but none more then what was necessary.

In the Kirkland-Bonnefoy residence, there was a frozen lake in the backyard. Matthew absolutely loved having it and maintaining the slick ice. Matthew did have a lot of grace on the frozen pond, when he was only with himself (which was often) he would do some figureskating like he was now. That was until Alfred came out, flailing his arms around,

"DUDE!" he cried brightly, trotting over to the other, causing Matthew to falter and fall right on his rump. He whimpered a little, rubbing his back and tried to say something before he was rudely cut off, "Wanna play hockey now?" he asked excitedly. Normally the smaller would have eagerly accepted this, but Arthur scolded him (when Francis wasn't home of course) and threatened him after Alfred had to go to the hospital with a broken wrist. That wasn't even Matthew's fault! Kumajiro ran out onto the ice and Alfred fell! If he was going to get in trouble with something, he might as well have done it right? But he shook his head, standing up and fighting for balance for a few moments,

"You know we can't, Alfred.." he pointed out quietly, blushing lightly and squeaking as Alfred hit him on the back, causing him to skate forward and fall on his bum again.

"HAHAHA!" he laughed brightly, "Well, I don't care!" Probably because he wouldn't be the one in trouble, "I want to play anyway man!" It was the second time that the French-Canadian got up that he came to a very good revelation and ended up grinning brightly.

"Lets play a game called 'curling'." Matthew offered. This seemed to capture dear brother's attention as he did fall silent into listening for once, "It's really simple. You throw a curling rock on the ice and sweep a path for it. Sounds fun eh?" he asked happily. Alfred crinkled his face. How did that sound like fun? But well, it was better then watching Matthew prance around like a fairy on the ice.

"Eeeeeeeeeeeh...okay." he agreed after a while looking at the broom forced in his hand and when he looked back up, Matthew was gone. "Micheal?" he called, looking around, "Maaaaaar~shall!" he called louder, huffing lightly. Where the hell did he go in such a short time? That kid was a shadow, man! He took in a breath again to call out before Matthew materialized in front of him,

"I had to get the spray-chalk and rock." he pointed out, grunting as he dropped the heavy fourty-pound curling rock. Alfred's mind wandered again as Matthew went to the ice to spray on the goals for the curling. Well...that was a huge ass heavy rock! He was really shocked that ol' whats-his-name could even carry it as far as he had! And there were even a couple more nearer to the rink. How strange.

Alfred couldn't get the hang of it for quite some time. He kept on throwing it wrong, couldn't sweep it in the right directions, and it'd always fall flat of the closest mark. Matthew thought it'd be fruitless to even bother until Alfred actually had it. Then, it was game on. Matthew was really good at curling (better at Hockey though) but Alfred...he was a natural. When the game was finished, Alfred was cheering brightly,

"YES! MOTHAH FUCKAH I WOOOON~~~!" Alfred shrieked. He never won a game of ice hockey (or roller hockey for that matter!) with his brother. Matthew was quite skilled and now he got beat at his own game. Though the blonde took it hard, staring at Alfred as he pranced and danced around happily. Alfred's victory was cut short by Matthew.

He picked up one of the curling rocks and screamed angry French as he swung the hard granite to the other's comparably soft head. But when Matthew opened his eyes, he realised Alfred was staring at him with wide eyes. He missed...he missed! He didn't want to miss! "W-Woah man...calm down...its just a game.." he said, backing up only to fall on the ice, sliding a few feet back. Matthew growled, glairing at his brother,

"Vous petit salaud!" He screamed, throwing the curling rock as hard as he could. It went whizzing down the ice and into Alfred's side, which allotted a loud scream, a nasty crack, and blood staining on the ice. Matthew smirked widely. Goal. But what does that mean?

Time to go for another goal.

He picked up his second rock and did the same, this one cracking his brother's shoulder out of place, shattering the bone. He giggled lightly, watching the blood and coughs erupt from the other who was on the floor. But he quickly changed those giggles to scared tears as he heard Arthur and Francis come out of the house.

Arthur was in a panic as he ran to the ice, immediately looking at Matthew,

"What did you do you bloody wanker!" he barked, "I told you not to do this anymore! So help me I'll-" he was cut off when Francis pushed him away, holding his own son tightly. Arthur ignored those 'bloody Frogs' as he went to Alfred, holding his head in his lap, "Alfred...love, we'll get you to the hospital...' he assured the bleeding boy. "And we'll kick Micheal out." he assured. Francis frowned deeply at this, crossing his arms as he kissed Matthew's cheek,

"Matthieu didn't do anything. Alfred is just a klutz, right mon cher?" he asked his little French son who cried crocodile for his brother,

"We...We were curling...and he slipped in front of my goal...!" he choked out, which was actually believable on both parties. Arthur wasted no time picking up his son and running to the car,

"You two stay home." He commanded, and that was obeyed. Francis held his son tightly against him, holding him and cuddling him lightly. He whispered soft French reassurances, but they fell on def ears. Matthew was looking passed Francis' shoulder, smirking widely as he saw his brother's broken body get loaded into the car. Victory wasn't sweet for Alfred, was it?

Fin.

**Hey again! I'm back...again. Ahahahahahaa...well here's the promised Chapter! Dedicated to dear sweet Audacitte for giving me the inspiration and motivation to violently attack America with a fourty pound graphite curling rock!**

**Also~ Thanks to my dear friend Sam for telling me not to just hit Alfred in the head. It made it so much better.**

**ALSO thanks to my dear, lovely friend Sixta for uploading these bad boys to Fanfiction!**

**And also to my readers! Please comment, they make me so happy!**


	12. Austrian Rage

There comes a time in every pianist's life where things get too great for them to handle. Roderich Edelstein, Austria, was by far no exception to this rule. Every day he'd work and clean up after his husband...he was forced to do everything in the house from dishes to taking care of _Gilbert's_ dog (aptly named 'Gildog') with little to no respect. All the time he'd get a slap on the ass for a 'job well done'. He hated it. It pissed him off every single time, and yet Gilbert continued doing...well, nothing.

But there was one thing that set him on his feet when he couldn't bare it much longer. His best friend, Vash, was always there for him in dire needs. Of course, they didn't look like a pair but behind closed doors they were very close...sometimes, perhaps, too close. But if Gilbert could be 'close' with Antonio some times...no reason Roderich couldn't be 'close' to Vash sometimes as well. He knew it was wrong but he still did it anyway...most of the time on spite.

Today was one of those days where Gilbert wasn't home and Vash was over for some tea and tortes that were custom made by the Austrian himself. These days were calm and contented...and the feeling was normally mutual. Except today, at least. Of course Austria was enjoying Switzerland's company, but the former seemed very distant. He didn't seem like himself at all, for that matter. "Vash," he began softly, "Is something the matter..? he asked with genuine concern for his friend.

Vash fidgeted with his cup for a minute, not daring to look at Roderich, "I'm just...thinking of us." he responded suddenly, "Our...relations." Both knew exactly what the Swiss meant. Secret randez vous in the middle of the hot summer nights, lost in the throws of passion. Often outside in the grass, a romantic air around them. Something Gilbert never gave him. The respect and tenderness he wanted, Gilbert could never harbor like Vash had. Austria was more than prepared to fuck, right there on the coffee table but..apparently...Vash had other plans. "I want it to stop." he said suddenly. Roderich was taken off guard,

"...What do you..?" His voice trailed off as he staired at Vash for a very, very long time before the blonde spoke up again,

"Everything. Our secret affairs...our friendship too." He said suddenly, looking at him coldly, "I want it to stop." Roderich couldn't wrap his head around his idea. Vash...didn't want to even be his friend anymore? What..? He frownd,

"That is absurd." He said suddenly, putting down his cup and looking to the Swiss man. "We've been friends forever. You can't just _stop_ that." He frowned deeply, not happy with this situation at all. Vash frowned at his 'friend', standing up,

"Well. I am. You are being distrustful to your husband." he responded, turning and starting to walk out. That was, until he felt something hard hit the back of his head. He growled a little looking back noticing the plate that fell to the floor. His eyes pierced at the other angrily, snapping angry German at the other, who spat the same back. Outside the home, it sounded like there would be murder soon..German always sounded so gruff, no matter who speaks it.

Austria growled, throwing another plate at the other, "You're MINE!" he screamed. Vash really wasn't expecting his reaction...he had never really seen Austria get so upset over something like this...but h was standing very firm to his belief of never meeting again. He fell over as his friend tackled him to the ground. Punches were thrown on both German speaker's parts, getting into a full on fist fight, "I'd rather have you than that Gilbastard!" he shrieked.

"Well you chose to marry _him_!" Vash fought back, turning the tables by rolling ontop of the other. Things seemed to slow down for a moment. Both men looked at eachother deeply, leaning in to kiss passionately. Roderich was very sure he won. His mouth opened for the other, purring a bit as their tounges tangled in ecstasy. But this few moments of bliss was interrupted by a knee to the groin. Roderich gasped, pulling Vash's hair and pushing him off,

"You stupid sonuvabitch!" he screamed, latching on the other's neck, squeezing tightly on the windpipe. Vash choked a bit, but managed to kick the other off his body. Both instantly got up staying silent as, looking at eachother. They felt the same thing, they shouldn't be doing this...it was pretty terrible. They were friends, close friend! But...not anymore...that made the male more angry again. Suddenly, Roderich picked up one of the chairs, screaming as he hit Vash with it. He panted lightly, "Why do you care now?" he shrieked, "I'd leave Gilbert in a minute to be with you." he breathed out.

Vash had taken out his gun, Roderich didn't notice. The Austrian was too busy releasing his anger...throwing everything he could manage at the other. Vash cocked the gun now. Roderich found a knife, tears in his eyes, "You wait untill I fall in love with you, you bastard!" he screamed, "I want you, Vash!" Now both aimed. Both daring eachother to move with a glare. It was Roderich that made the first move, but the gun fired a second later. Silence over took th whole room, both men dropped.

Shot in the heart, stabbed in the neck.

**well...after a short hiatus..I finally updated! Did they die? ...well...yes...they did. Kufufu...hope this is what they had mind!**

**Till next time, ciao~!**


	13. Paint It Red

_I'd like to teach the world to sing, _

_in perfect harmony_

_I'd like to hold it in my arms_

_and keep it company_

World meetings were an interesting thing. This time, it was unusually quiet. The North American brother's sat grinning blankly in front of them, holding each other's hands. Feliciano was sitting side saddled in Lovino's lap, hands intertwined as well, snuggling. Though the younger of the two's eyes were open, but narrowed, an and unsettling smirk graced his lips. The three Baltics were pressed up to each other, watching everyone else tentatively. The Asians sat in a clumped family, Yao smiling with a young Hong Kong on his lap whose icy eyes bore holes into England. Im Yong Soo was snuggled up to Yao's chest and Japan neatly sat by his side. The Krauts (Germany, Prussia, Austria, and Switzerland) were tight knit as well. Gilbert and Vash clinging to Austria while the brothers sat very cloths to one another. Arthur and Francis sat obediently next to each other, not saying a word. Russia just kept on smiling his baby-faced smile..

_tick...tock...tick...tock...tick...tock...tick...tock_

That infernal clock. Ticking away time. Time for what though? It could be a host of different things at this point. But everyone was at a stand still, nobody dared move. Obviously, the time ticking away meant nothing. The clock may as well have stopped on all of them, rendering them frozen in place forever. Were they? Was this English magic gone awry? Possibly this wasn't even reality. The only thing that made it so was..

_tick...tock...tick...tock...tick...tock...tick...tock_

That infernal clock. But, oh? Something was happening. All that happened was the Frenchman in his seat sneezed. That's all. But the reaction from that little sneeze was large. Gun shot by Vash and Feliciano, which caused the Frenchman to duck. Everyone then got up at once. Silence and stillness again until the North American brother's loud laugh broke it, and started a whole new thing. The blonde twins laughed, switching out their blades as they violently attacked the communists. This in turn made Russia take out his tap and Yao brought out his wok, instantly fighting back. This made the other Asian's give Yao backup as well.

The Italians went after the German brothers, and eventually the whole world was fighting. One huge mess of laughs and cuts, gun fires and blood. All except for one nation. Spain sat there quietly, watching all of them. Watching the blood stain the floors and walls...splattering on windows. Bodies drop and insult slings. Psychotic laughter's, slaughters. He watched it all, and he didn't do a thing. He then watched his Lovino take on Ludwig. Ah, what a beautiful sight that was. He couldn't help but smile wider, watching the exotic dance go on. Both had knives and dodged and swayed in very elegant ways. Of course Lovino looked beautiful, he was smiling wide and _laughing_. Spain didn't get to see that often.

Then Antonio observed Feliciano and Gilbert. Feliciano was limber and stealthy in his movements while Gilbert was very brute and stiff. Still, both worked, but Gilbert seemed to be getting the worse end of it. He was bleeding in multiple places...and his face was serious and rather pissed off. Though he would be too if he was getting his ass handed to him by an_ Italian._ Spain just laughed to himself and looked around. Well, Ivan went down, hard. He was missing an arm...oh, and a head for that matter too. He looked up to see none other than Raivis holding up his head in victory. His makeshift family cheering for the younger, all splattered in blood. Ah, they seemed so happy, not trembling at all. That was nice, really nice actually. He couldn't help but giggle a little, so sweet!

He soon turned his attention to the North American brothers. Their hands where still tightly gripped together as they fought their own _parents_. But it wasn't _just_ Matthew fighting England, but also Li (Hong Kong). England didn't really stand much of a chance. Ah, family feuds where so sad sometimes. But it was good to let your feelings out! Antonio laughed softly as he saw Matthew smack Arthur with his favourite hockey stick and put a gash in his head. Li was collaborating with his own wok, like his Mama, and smacked him with it as well, causing him to fall instantly. Both of his children growled as they beat Arthur until blood started pouring out of his mouth...skull cracking in places...

But Alfred and Francis' fight was very simple. It seemed as though Alfred was taking the Frenchman down very easily. The American couldn't help but laugh brightly, ripping out every strand of hair on his whole head, laughing brightly as blood leaked out with each yank. It was so much fun~! Antonio figured that Alfred must have had a good reason! Or they were just playing. Either way it was happening, and Spain was watching eagerly.

But one by one, Spain watched as people were murdered while only a few staid standing. They had no drive to fight each other...There were three Baltics left, the small family spending time together. Marveling in what their little Latvia did to the mighty Russian. The Italian and North American twins were left...and Ludwig. That was it, except Spain of course. The Spanish man scooped Lovino in his arms and snuggled him,

"Ah Nino~" he purred softly, snuggling him, "You're so beautiful when you do that!" Antonio cooed as he rubbed his happy Lovino. The Italian kept on grinning, still on his psychotic high, "Te amo~" he mewled. Lovino laughed,

"Ti amo~" he mewled back.

_I'd like to see the world for once_

_All standing hand in hand_

_And hear them echo through the hills;_

_"Ah, peace throughout the land"_

**Um..wow erm...this is Paint It Red...or, World Rage. I decided to write a story were EVERYONE- so far- snaps! Um...yay? I don't know how to handle this.**

**Read and Review. Please. And Answer my poll on my home page will ya!**

**And you guys know the drill. I take requests for Onomatopoeias**

**Ciao 3**


	14. American Rage

There comes a time in every hero's life where things get too great for them to handle. Alfred F. Jones, America, was by far no exception to this rule. It took a great deal of time, but the American finally realised that the world didn't take him seriously. Every plan he had, anything he offered to the world was immediately shot down because of past experiences and dud ideas. And there was one person in particular that always shot him down-none other than 'dear daddy' England. That guy pissed Alfred off so much it wasn't even imaginable. All the time he'd shoot him down, and most of the time prevented him from talking even. America always said 'Drop Dead England' and man, did he ever mean it now.

He invited Arthur over to his house for the day. He wanted to have a serious discussion with Arthur...honestly, he did. He was waiting expectantly for that knock on the door. The knock of a true English Gentleman-which everyone knew Arthur was not. Alfred had made scones, or tried to. They tasted too delicious so he baked them for an extra thirty-minutes to burn them, just as England would. He knew for damn sure that the brit on the other side didn't think this conversation was going to be everything but serious. And he was wrong. Oh was he very wrong.  
The American put on a plastic smile and opened the door. He greeted the Englishman just like he always would, "Hey dude!" he said brightly, "Glad you could'a made it!" he said brightly, watching as the other visibly winced at the poor grammar and..even pronunciation of the words itself. So terrible and slurred.

"Yes yes, good day, Alfred," he mumbled quietly, walking in anyway without being actually invited in. That greatly pissed off Alfred, honestly, but he'd let it go for now. Why snap at him when he could just..."Anyway, what is so important? If it is more money you need, blimey, I'm not giving you any." he said instantly, sitting down and helping himself to the tea that was laid out by the American.

"actually no," he began, sitting down and watching the other intently, "I've just came to voice my opin-" He was cut off by the other again,

"Oh buggar..Alfred, honestly is this about the whole global warming thing again?" He asked, frowning, "That will never happen." he stated simply, sipping his tea. Alfred stared at the other for the longest of times. Not fully understanding something..he was talking before..well before he could even finish a sentence. Now he was going to change subjects on the other. He offered a wide smile again,

"Nah man, I kinda realised that couldn't happen, yanno?" He offered, shrugging, "Anyway, its actually about...us." He offered, watching as Arthur nearly choked on his tea,

"...U-us?" he yelped lightly, face tinted red a little. He was kind of nervous..was Alfred actually going to...well confess something to him? What would he do if he actually- and his thought process was stopped immediately when he felt a slap across the face,

"it isn't working out, Arthur." He said coldly, frowning more. And before he even got a word in he grabbed the fork on the table and stabbed Arthur right in the eye, "DON'T TAKE ME FOR GRANTED!" he screamed over Arthur's screams of pain. The big-browed man held his face, crying out in pain,  
"BLOODY HELL ALFRED!" he shrieked, feeling blood leak out into his hand as he shivered in pain. He had no clue if he should leave it in or not but...his mind was quickly made up after he felt Alfred rip the fork out of his socket. He screamed, looking up with his good eye when he saw..well...his skewered organ on a fork. He shivered terribly, in too much shock to actually register anything that happened to him. He panted hard, whole body wracking with pain and shock and..well every other emotion he could possibly feel.

"Oh shut up," Alfred snapped, but smirked a little, "...Eat it." he hissed lightly. England didn't understand until he felt...his own optical organ jammed inside his mouth. He shivered a little, paling. He didn't move..but Alfred's hands came down to grab he chin and top of the head, "chew." he hissed. And after a moment of nothing, he forced the other's jaw down on the eye. It seemed to go in slow motion, the ball seemed to burst in his mouth, filling his senses with blood and god-knows what other fluids. But he swore he heard the sound of it popping from the pressure..his stomach churned inside him and his stomach was about to betray him very soon too. He could only pray that Alfred would let go soon..

But the American was getting well too much pleasure by seeing the other like this, "Whats the matter, Iggs?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "You don't like it?" He smirked wider when he felt the other hurk, and only pressed his jaws tighter together. And Arthur did puke, but it was caught inside his mouth, even if some did leak out. His one green eye looked up at the other pleaingly but..no mercy could be found, "Swallow or choke, Arthur." he growled out at the other irritably. What other choice did he honestly have? Tears whelled up and spilled, as he slowly started swallowing. He had vomited well to much to gulp it all down at once...so it was all prolonged and painful with each swallow. It was painful...and burned..and tasted horrible and somewhere in the mix he felt the eye go down with it. His stomach was doing even more flip-flops at this..but he managed to control himself, "Is it all gone?" he asked simply, satisfied when he saw the other nod a little. He let his hands go off his head and patted it, "Good good." he breathed softly, "...Let me..." he suddenly grabbed a switchblade from his pocket and clicked it. "Now..you stabbed me in the back so...I'll return the favour.." he offered, and plunged it deep into the other's back...

"_Drop dead England_."

**I can honestly say this one...almost made me puke. XD;; I'm such a fail. Sorry for the long wait..I lost my muse for quite a while! But its back for now~! So I took advantage of it and..made this.  
Thanks for all the reviews and favs! I totally appreciate it! Until next time!**


	15. Mental Illnesses

There comes a time in every Drunkard's life where things get too great for them to handle. Alaster Kirkland, Scotland, was by far no exception to this rule. He liked to live the comfortable life, mooching off his younger brother Arthur as he sat around drinking and smoking all day. It wasn't that that he didn't want to better his life- its just that he didn't have the drive to do it honestly. But not that it bothered him too much. He loved his brother very much though, it was the main reason he always hung around Arthur. But the Brit didn't see it quite the same way.

Arthur quite hated his older brothers. They bullied him...not so much Callum, but Alaster and Idris especially. He hated when Alaster always lounged around his house, drinking every booze he could possibly find in the home. Which was quite a lot. The ex-Pirate had whiskey, rum...wine...everything he possibly could collect over the years of travelling around the world for war or gain. And it irked him when he watched that lazy oaf on his couch, swilling away his entire supply of alcohol and smoking away his entire supply of tobacco (god knows how old it was. It may even be laced with Opium too!). He knew the smell was atrocious and sight was ghastly.

"ALASTER! Will you _stop_ it already! Go the bloody hell home!" The younger snapped suddenly. There hadn't come a reply from the other, and it infuriated Arthur. How dare he to not even glance his way! It was highly rude and, normally, he'd give that. Or even some indication he heard the Island nation (whether it'd be the bird or just a snicker) would suffice at least! "_Alaster_! Are you even listening to me you git!" he snarled angrily.

"Aye." Came the reply eventually from the lazy lump on the couch. "I hear ye. Loud n' clear." He sounded quite bored, or maybe something else was lacing his voice right now. "What do ye want?"

Arthur looked fairly confused at this response. Had he not just stated what he wanted? Had he not just said he wanted Alaster out of his home? Maybe he had to completely specify for the other, "Alaster. I wish for you to leave. That means for you to get off your lazy arse and march yourself right out my door! Then, I want you to _stay_ gone. Forever. Because I hate you. And cannot stand you any longer!" Oh. Of course there was a time where he absolutely adored his older brother. This was mainly when he was a wee lad himself! Never when he had grown older. For as soon as he did, Alaster started molesting him and bulling him at every chance he could.

"...Nay." Alaster responded after another very, very long pause. And only after that reply came the soft creek of an old couch as weight shifted on it. Alaster then got to his feet and turned to look to Arthur. "Why should I?" He didn't look angry. No, this wasn't exactly what Arthur had in mind this time. "Ye used te love me." He shrugged, taking another long drag from the pipe in his hand (having run out of fags many hours ago), "What happen' brothair?" he asked, raising a thick eyebrow in genuine curiosity.

At this, Arthur wasn't completely sure what to say. He knew that at any moment Alaster was going to smack him. Or even something worse. It made his stomach sink deep into the pits of his bowls, because he knew what was to come. But the problem was he didn't know exactly _when_. It drove him crazy.

"What happen', Brothair." He stated this time, and slowly walked closer. "Ye used te love me. What happen', Brothair." He breathed out as he leaned into his younger brother's ear.  
"D-Don't-"  
"Ye don' have te answer." Alaster responded immediately, cutting the younger off easily, "I know exactly wha' ye thinkin'. Yer so predictable." He chuckled lowly and pulled away suddenly. These actions caused the little Brit to shutter in his place and take a nervous step back. Now he was afraid to speak. Or not. If he started speaking then this whole thing would be over with sooner right?"

"What happen' brothair. What happened, brothair." Alaster only repeated that again, and circled Arthur's form like a shark around it's prey, "Ye used te love me. What happen', brothair..." he trailed off to take another long drag of his pipe. "What happened b-"  
"STOP SAYING THAT!" Arthur screamed suddenly, shoving at Alaster. He didn't budge. In fact, the only thing he did was smirk a bit. Alaster wasn't going to attack him...or was he? What if he was going to do something terrible? What if he was going to _die_ because he kept on fighting back? Or maybe Alaster wanted him to fight back? This was hurting his brain, and he clamped his eyes shut.

"...Why brothair? Its true ain't it?" he asked softly, laughing happily as can be. Like absolutely nothing was wrong. "Ye were so small. So dependent on me." He stated quietly, "Surely ye remember. Ye used to love me. What happen', brothair?"

Of course Arthur remembered. Of course it wrenched at his heart every single time he thought about what they once were. What they were now. They were two completely different things. Two completely different things, and he yearned for the first. And Alfred knew this definitely. Maybe Alaster wanted an answer?

"...You st-started...just hurting me all the time!" He snapped suddenly, his fists to his sides, trying to keep from shaking. Alaster definitely had the air around him that made him so...intimidating. Maybe it was because he was the older brother but...maybe it was because he had the power to kill the man, if he wished. Was that his plan?

"Ye like it. Ye used te love sleepin' wit' me when ye were a teenager." He responded simply, snickering softly, "Don't ye remember? Ye used te love me. What happen' brothair?" Those two lines were getting to the smaller very quickly. Alaster was always...dear in his heart. And he was getting accused that he didn't love Alaster. Pride and stupidity was getting in the way of admitting he love his brother.

"...you lie," Arthur lied immediately, "I have never enjoyed it! And I never loved you!" he denied everything now. Because memories of that was very painful. Because he knew what it was like to have someone you raised claim they hate you. Even if both knew it wasn't true, words hurt. They stung, they cut.

"Ye used te love me. What happen', brothair?"

Like those words right there.

"STOP SAYING THAT!" he screamed back again, bristling irritably and tried to get away.

"Nay."  
"WHY NOT!" he screamed irritably, and was suddenly grabbed by his big brother by the waist. He struggled immediately. He needed to get away. He was terrified of Alaster right now. Because he was so calm. And he wasn't doing...anything but talking.

"Ye used te love me. What happen', brothair?"  
"STOP IT!" he screamed again, and fell to his knees, sobbing, "Just STOP IT ALREADY!" he started freaking out. "Kill me if you want!" he choked out, "I don't care, just stop that! Stop talking!" he flailed immediately, and choked out another sob. He felt searing pain everywhere on his back. Like stabs everywhere. He screamed out in pain, never realising he was dropped, and laying on the floor. All he felt was emotional and physical pain everywhere.

Alaster just watched. His brother was making such a scene. Screaming 'stop hurting me' and things of the like. He just smoked more, watching him with much amusement. He didn't lay a finger on him-in a harmful manner at least. Maybe he just mentally broke. And felt past pain and scars starting to tear away at the new flesh again. All he knew that it wasn't his problem.

But it sure in hell was very fun to watch.

**My god..I actually got one done! Technically both UK and Scotland snap in this fic...hope you like it! **

**Remember to read and review!**


	16. Mirror Mirror On the Wall

There comes a time in every person's life where things get too great for them to handle. Oh, oh this will not start as such this time. Let us enter a strange, and different, parallel world this time. Where everyone is there physically, but perhaps never mentally. Where colour is distorted as well as minds and personalities. Names are similar, and perhaps appearances are identical. But these beings are nothing like the counterparts we know. For now, we shall call these beings '2p'.

They had always existed, but not in this world. Beyond a standard mirror lies so much more than one would think. They know about the other side, but the other side does not know about them. They could not see in at first, at least, until Arthur Kirkland had a magical accident. The results of it were not exactly clear until some of the 2p's started discovering things.

Now, they could look on the other side. But what did the other's see? Absolutely nothing but their own reflection. This was working like a two way mirror, almost, to a magical realm. It wasn't until one day, Vanya-who we will call Ivan's counterpart-was at his lover's home. 2pthur. Now in normal standards, the Russian and and Brit would never have connected in such ways that would show love, but here they did.

Vanya was quite bored while 2pthur enjoyed playing and tending his garden. Vanya wasn't stupid, he knew not to disturb the other when he was busy with cooking or gardening. 2pthur may seem quite harmless at first glance, but this was utter lies. Though, the Russian also happened to know that 2pthur would never considering hurting him, but honestly he wouldn't take that chance right now.

So he spent his days wandering around the brightly coloured and decorated house, eyeing knickknacks and stealing a cupcake or two ("ah, they seem to be Wales flavoured today."). But that was all before he came across the mirror in the hallway. Looking out into it, it seemed like the utter opposite of what 2pthur's home looked like. It was more earth tones and not as cluttered in decorations. No sign of pinks or blue anywhere in the room he looked into. So strange, indeed.

He decided to dismiss it, for now. Perhaps it was just his eyes playing tricks on him. Nothing much could happen in this realm, besides the normal insanities that happen, and Vanya simply didn't care much to venture out into the unknown right now.

He heard someone enter the door, and immediately whipped his head around to see who it was. He was expecting his Cupcake King, but instead he found the Princess. Though this Princess was far from womanly. It was Matt, or simply MATT, who was looking for his father. He was wearing tight cloths as usual, and was wearing the stolen smile of the Cheshire's,

"Oh Vanya, I thought you'd be here," He began, and sat on the couch next to the Russian, cuddling him slightly, "Where's Dddy?" he asked curiously. Vanya didn't really answer right away, or react. Sometimes MATT really did piss him off, but he knew he'd always get what he wanted. No matter the cause. So he'd always play along.

"Gardening," He responded curtly, his blank expression never leaving his pale face, "Why?"

It was MATT's turn to look bored with the situation, but Vanya could tell that there was underlying eagerness built into those features. Something that the little Canadian could never really, truly hide.

"I was just curious," he began again, "Because I discovered something." Vanya was pondering this briefly and, before even getting a chance to say much if anything at all, MATT started up once more. "The Mirrors, darling, the mirrors," Vanya thought that MATT was trying to insinuate that he was stupid for not knowing. But how could he? He did not know much of what was going on with the mirrors. Though it did puzzle him slightly, he wasn't able to get another word out, "Oh honey," MATT said and sighed, grinning, "Blame my magic, or something, but regardless...you can go through."  
"Go through?"  
"Oh yes, baby!" MATT said excitedly, grinning, "I was playing with their Scot- they named him Alaster, can you believe it?-and he has the cutest little scream ever." he commented happily. Vanya didn't seem to care much or was bothered with the statements made before. Things like this were quite common among the 2p universe. They loved to play games, after all, and what better a game than bloodshed? The game of the animals, some may think, but they thought absolutely nothing of it. It was simple horseplay. Vanya had lost himself with MATT's babbling. He almost felt bad for not listening, considering that Matt was speaking so animatedly about the whole subject,

"So what does this mean to me?" He asked suddenly, not even paying attention to the middle of the sentence, "Why would I care?"

MATT seemed to get offended by this, and huffed. He crossed his arms and didn't speak for quite some time. He really acted like a child when he didn't get his way. Atleast, to some people like his Dddy, 2pthur, or even himself. Most others would be dead with that interruption,

"I was getting there," he snapped suddenly, and brushed his hair over his shoulder calmly, a smile reappearing on his face, "It just so happens we can _play_ with them too. Don't you want to play with the 1ps?" He asked with a sweet smile, "Oh of course you do, I can see it in your eyes." That was another thing MATT always loved to do—he loved telling people what they wanted to do. Like nobody had their own mind to say what they wanted. But Vanya didn't make a big deal of it. He only gave a little shrug,

"I suppose." His shoulders were suddenly wrapped with thin, pale arms of the Canadian. He giggled quietly,

"Well! What are you waiting for~?" With a sudden shove, Vanya was on his feet. He frowned a little bit as he approached the mirror suddenly, looking it over briefly. He examined it. The other side was quite an interesting thing, was it not? He watched his distorted coloured self on the other side. He seemed to be on an alcohol binge. How disgusting, throwing back vodka like it was simple water. So absolutely disgusting. Vanya did not enjoy drinking, at least that much, and thought it the most unattractive act one could do. He sneered a little at the rather deplorable sight before slowly pushing through the mirror.

At first, this intruder went unnoticed by the near intoxicated man. He slumped over on his couch and simply drank more. That was until he was alerted by a soft thump coming from his hallway. Sluggishly, he stood up, craning his neck immediately to look over the hallway. Empty. Perhaps it was his imagination? Perhaps.  
Or perhaps not. He wielded his tap in his calloused hand, slowly walking down the hall. A small smirk placed on his face, "Come out," he called, "I know you are here da~?" a soft chuckle was in his voice. Little did he know, the intruder was right behind him. Absolute silent, standing behind the 1p Russian. No emotion was on his face, none at all.

And suddenly, Vanya violently brought down the tap onto Ivan, watching him go down. Ivan honestly did not know what on earth was going on, until he was down. He felt a high pressure on his back, and suddenly he was forced back over. Vanya was now staring at something that looked quite like himself—but was not. Oh this was not him in the least bit. This man was quite different from himself, despite the shocking similarities. Aside from the darker, brunette hair and his strange red eyes; this man could pass for Ivan.

"I do not enjoy tricks, da?" Ivan grinned a bit, though was highly annoyed. He did not get an answer, which was making him quite more angry than he should be, "It would be advised that you get off of me, da?" a wider grin spread across his face, "I may take more action~" Was that supposed to be a warning?

"I believe you are the one annoying me, sir." Vanya said casually. For a long moment, things were quite tense and almost asphyxiating. Vanya's cold stare was so horrible, yet so blank, that it was practically reducing the mighty Russian Ivan to shaking and near crying. "You are quite the moronic one, are you not?" he asked suddenly, leaning down.

"Go away." Ivan was silently, almost inconspicuously, panicking. He wasn't enjoying this. He did not like being dominated, especially when it was so easily done by the man above him. How did that even happen in the first place? He would never know. Most likely, he would never get the chance to ask again. He felt a hand groping down his body, and into his coat, "Stop that!" he spat out instantly, starting to lose control of his temper.

But Vanya did not. He remained completely calm and aware of everything the other was feeling. From subtle hints, too, like his skin temperature increasing and even his heart beat pounding against his rib cage. He felt that against his groin, actually. It was a fairly odd sensation, nobody was ever this scared of him before. In fact, he was quite benign in the 2p universe, compared to the others like Li or even 2pthur for that matter. They would not think twice to split you open and laugh as you bled, finding sheer enjoyment out of the whole situation at hand.

Ah. Finally, Vanya found what he was looking for. He quickly uncovered the six-round revolver. The smallest of smiles were laid on his face at that exact moment. Somehow, Ivan knew what was coming. Yet at the same breath, he did not know anything that was happening. His mind was racing from irrational to more of a lazed state and his body was not realizing how to react to all of it. So he laid there, looking a mixture of scared and a nervousness. It made Vanya quite happy, actually.

A soft chuckle, and that barrel was down the throat of the other. Vanya looked to Ivan fondly, "Well now," he began, "Someone looks scared." He said immediately. And Ivan tried denying it, trying to pull away, look away. Anything. To no avail. The only thing he got, was a shot down the throat. Making a silent scream he writhed under his mirror image. Tears formed and spilled, feeling the barrel dig deeper into his throat. "good reason." Another shot.

Ivan hated that he was not _dying_ already. This was the single most horrible thing he ever had to experience. More silent screams, he was shot twice more down into his stomach. Blood started bubbling up from his throat and out the sides of his lips. He was still alive, though. Just barely, but he was feeling it. He cried harder, trying to beg the other to stop. All he did was feel the barrel push up to the roof his mouth. The trigger was pulled again, straight into the large Russian's brain. He was dying at a much faster rate. So, just to make sure the other felt absolutely all the shots, Vanya fired most of the remaining bullets up the roof of his mouth before pulling out. Now he was grinning, a rare sight, as he pressed the tip to the other's lifeless eye, and pulled the trigger. This time, it was simply for fun. He did not exactly get to see the other shots, after all.

Standing up once more, his wiped his hands of blood and dropped the gun on the dead, bleeding body. With that, he casually left the room, and climbed back through the mirror. Hmn, perhaps Matt was right when he said playing with the 1ps would be very, very fun.


	17. Welsh Rage

There comes a time in every brother's life where things get too great for them to handle. Callum Kirkland, Wales, was by far…by _far_ no exception to this rule. He was such a quiet, obedient boy. He always did what he was told by his brothers, although never really agreed. He took whatever he could endure, and then some. It had to take a toll on him at some point, and that point was right now. It hurt him, every day to live with the UK and sometimes Ireland. Though he had to admit, he enjoyed when his North American nephews came to visit, though this was a very rare occasion. Most of the time, it was Arthur gone to visit or do other things around the world. Which led to the problem of staying, alone, with Scotland. Even Idris (N. Ireland) was rarely ever home, knowing better. But even he could stand up to Alaster (Scotland), though when he did it resulted in fights and leaving in anger.

Now, right this very minute, Callum was being forced to clean the house. He did not complain, however he did slowly get sick and tired of it all. Biting his bottom lip hard, he stood up from the kitchen floor. He heard Alaster snickering at the telly every so often, most likely pissed beyond his wits and a fag in his mouth. Oh how his brother was a lazy drunk…and Callum could not stand it one bit. Especially the part where Alaster would yell at him to get him another ale or a light. But when he was happy, he was fine. Completely benign. Though it was when he was talked back to, or rejected did he get very angry. He was not normally a happy drunk, lest kept that way.

Callum did not turn around when he heard foot-steps come up behind him, or a paid of arms around his waist. He didn't condone it, not at all, but he did not oppose. Allowing his brother to do what he wanted was the easiest way to make it out alive, honestly. Shifting on his hips a little bit, he leaned over to look back at Alaster,

"Must you-"

"Shet ep." The Scotsman snarled suddenly, frowning deeply. Callum normally never caused his big brother any problem…this was such a rare occasion.

"I will not shut up, Alaster. Let me go." he snapped almost immediately. Alaster was briefly taken aback by this outburst. He nearly let go. Nearly. Though he grabbed the other's wrist, and squeezed with a great might. He was getting quite aggravated at the man, he would not stand for this. Not in the least bit. Ignoring the light whimper and struggling from the smaller, he shoved the other into the wall, growling,

"…what the feck did ye say te me?" he snarled, "…Yer grown' a backbone, ain't ye." he looked the other over. He was trying to stay fearless and strong and, oh my how cute it was. It was all a facade, nothing more nor less. He found it nearly endearing his brother was going to such lengths to stand up for him. He was certainly not going to stand for any of this. Laughing, he abruptly smacked Callum, grinning, "Aye…it needs te be broken again." he said softly, touching his cheek lightly. Callum shied away almost immediately, frowning in legitimate, genuine anger. Something that did not quite happen as often as it should, or could.

"Alaster, _no_." He snapped abruptly, shoving the other away. The drunkard staggered a little, growling, he was screaming at him..but it wasn't anything he cared to understand. It wasn't Welsh nor English, so he simply did not care. "I do not _care_ Alaster!" he screamed abruptly. Then the argument ensued, both parties not even using English anymore, but their own respective languages. Gaelic and Welsh never really came together smoothly.

"I am SICK OF YOU ALASTER!" Callum was the first to break away, but Alaster was the first to throw a punch. Physical fighting was never Callums forte, he did not have the correct physique nor will power to attack. Well, at least when it came to his brother. But why should he ever have to listen to them? What made them so different from Callum? He knew. He knew he was the only one willing of the Kirklands to do their bidding, be their little slave of some sort. He would not have it at all, but the last thing he took was the punch from the drunken man.

Gasping softly, he growled and grabbed the first possible thing he could. It was cleaning solution he was using beforehand, and doused it on the larger. Alaster stumbled back a bit, cursing quite loudly. The fag in his mouth dropping and that was it. He was up in flames within a matter of seconds. Panic ensued the man, and he tried to get it off..but the liquid on his skin and cloths took ablaze in the easiest of ways.

All Callum could possibly do was stare. He could not move his legs to run to help him, or advert his eyes to stop staring at his brother being burned alive. This was not intentional. It really was not. He hated his brother, he did not want them dead. He felt his chest tighten, smelling the flesh burning and cooking. Blistering and peeling. It made him sick, very sick.

Watching his brother drop was the worst part of it. It sounded so hollow, and listless. Was he really dead, though? Though still burning with all oxygen taken from him…was he not a country? Countries did not fall so easily, did they? Tears stung his eyes as he watched Alaster move and shift, struggling to crawl somewhere. The flames turned into nothing and he still smoldered. He was alive. He was a country.

Alaster could not breathe, nor speak. He wanted to die at this point, but this feat was entirely impossible. He wheezed and tried to get anything to alleviate this pain. He managed to stare right up at Callum, pleading silently. And…

All Callum could possibly do was stare. But now, he started to cry. He was completely scared, and had no idea what to do. He knew Alaster was suffering, and needed to die but could not. And he felt nearly ashamed in himself. He could not bring himself to move, or even think about helping Alaster. Somewhere, deep down, he knew that Alaster deserved this. Every last blister and oxygen-deprived second. It still sickened him, stomach churning and bile peeking up in his throat to come out. He did not sob, but tears came out. The home was completely silent. The abrupt sound of Callum _running_ as fast as he could, away from this place. Into his bedroom, or even to the first flight to Canada. He just could not bare to see Alaster anymore.

Arthur can handle it when he got home, couldn't he?

**Oh my…sorry for the HUGE delay. But I got this written with a stroke of inspiration. I hope you guys enjoy :3**

**R&R, even if you reviewed before! It keeps me going! And I need suggestions bros!**


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